


Floating Bodies

by rxttenk1d



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Cigarettes, Dead Body, Other, Panic Attacks, Self Harm, Starving, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, post-final show down
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 13:14:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12255093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rxttenk1d/pseuds/rxttenk1d
Summary: All the events of the summer had built up like Jenga blocks- being pulled apart and added onto, and seeing Georgie lying there in the river, bobbing along in his galoshes and his ducky yellow rain coat, wet hair matted to his forehead, was like having one of the base blocks ripped out suddenly, and have the whole tower collapse to the ground.





	Floating Bodies

**Author's Note:**

> Finally hopped onto the bandwagon of writing IT stories.

No one in the loser's club had seen Bill Denborough cry. Yes, they had seen him scream, and break down, and yes, there had been times when he had cried- just a few stubborn tears trickling down his cheeks- but no one had seem him cry like he had when they saw Georgie's body floating down the river on the warm Sunday afternoon in Derry.

Bill didn't cry when they saw his younger brother's body floating along the river- he sobbed. Great, heaving sobs that had him gasping for air, crouched over on the edge of the river, grasping the muddy, stony bank as he sobbed and cried, screaming at the pain in his heart- a stabbing pain ever present. He vomited, mind racing a million different ways as Georgie drifted lazily along the river, pale face facing up to the sky. 

Bill gasped and heaved at the air, body shaking, hair falling in front of his face, eyes blood shot and red, the taste of vomit still fresh in his mouth as the smell of his rotting brother over came him. George bobbed along slowly, before coming to rest a few meters away on the river bank, basking in the hot sun. Flies came to rest upon his body, and Bill couldn't watch- he couldn't fucking watch- so he vomited again. 

Eddie shut his eyes tightly, wanting to be anywhere but here.

Richie walked towards George's corpse, and a broken voice called out, full of sadness and anger, full of fear and hatred and loathing and something else that Richie couldn't place- "duh-duh- duh-don't you fuh-fucking go near him."

He knew it was Bill but fuck- it didn't sound like Bill. It didn't sound like his best friend. 

It sounded like a boy filled with rage and anger and hate, and the most unimaginable sadness. It sounded like a boy who couldn't explain what he had seen, who had been through the most traumatic experiences, yet no matter who he told, no one believed him.

It sounded just like Bill. But it couldn't be Bill.

Because Bill, after all the fucking shit they had been through, was the one who had put on the happy facade.

When Eddie had had panic attacks when the sink started to bubble up, or the toilet blocked, or the trees scratched the windows or the wind sounded like it was something lurking in the shadows, Eddie had always called Bill. And Bill had always been there, rubbing his back and playing with his hair and telling him 'it's ok. Its gone. We're ok'

When Richie started to self harm, Bill had been the one to get him to stop, holding him as the usually chipper boy broke down, making him promise not to do it again, and checking everyday- every fucking day that he kept to that promise.

When Mike drank until he couldn't feel- couldn't walk- couldn't see straight- Bill was the one to clean up his vomit and give him new clothes and let him sleep at his house. He was the one to give him aspirin and a glass of water in the morning, the curtains drawn tightly shut and the room quiet as a mouse. 

When Stanley shut himself in his room, not talking to anyone, Bill was the one to coax him out, wiping his eyes and kissing his head, hugging him tightly and promising him he'll protect him- that nothing- no one- could ever hurt him, and he'll make sure of it. 

And when Ben stopped eating and loosing weight extremely quickly- too quickly to be normal- Bill was the one to give him food, to make him eat, and to make sure he was ok. 

And Bev was long gone by then, but whenever she called him crying over the phone, he always- always- answered. He always would be there for his friends.

But no one had suspected Bill needed help. No one had thought that Bill was was the most damaged.

But that was because no one saw the hidden cigarette packets under his pillows that were smoked on top of the roof late at night, or the burns from said cigarettes pock marking his inner thighs. No one had seen the small white scars criss crossing his shoulders and stomach and hips. No one saw him shaking in his room at night, unable to cry. No one saw him eating barely any dinner or drinking himself to sleep sometimes or screaming into his pillow because it was all his fault he did this it was his fault he was a stupid pathetic piece of shit they were right they were all right all of them.

They all believed Bill was fine.

But they weren't surprised when he broke down. I mean, after all, this is his brother's corpse, finally found months after the final showdown. 

But it went deeper than that. It was the fact that it was his fault Georgie was floating there, dead, being eaten by maggots and flies. It was his fault that Richie had scars criss crossing his arms and it was his fault Ben starved himself and it was his fault Eddie cried himself to sleep and it was his fault Mike was an alcoholic and it was his fault it was his fault it was his fault. 

All the events of the summer had built up like Jenga blocks- being pulled apart and added onto, and seeing Georgie lying there in the river, bobbing along in his galoshes and his ducky yellow rain coat, wet hair matted to his forehead, was like having one of the base blocks ripped out suddenly, and have the whole tower collapse to the ground. 

So Bill sobbed and sobbed and sobbed, on his knees and clutching his stomach as tears rolled down his face and chin and neck, dampening his shirt. And Mike and Ben and Stan and Eddie and Richie stood. 

And Eddie let tears slip down his face. 

And Richie bit back a remark when he saw a thin white line poking above bill's collar because he knew what that was. 

And Mike looked away when he saw something akin to a cigarette poking out of bill's pocket.

And Ben shut up when he saw he loose the usually well fitting clothes seemed on Bill's frame- how they looked like they were hanging off loosely- like he was a coat hanger.

And they all stayed quiet and let him sob, until finally Stanley crouched beside bill, placing a hand lightly on his back. 

And Richie, who finally knew- who finally understood- broke the silence first.

"Its ok, Bill. We're going to get through this. You're going to be ok."

And Bill inhaled deeply, straightening his back.

"Maybe one day" he said, in a broken voice, "but not today. Not for a while."

And the flies floated lazily around the small body of a boy as the crickets chirped in the summer afternoon.

**Author's Note:**

> Pester me on tumblr at mr-billy-hasgrove.


End file.
